


my heart’s a tart, your body’s rent

by magpie_fngrl



Series: Tumblr AU Prompts [6]
Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Alternate Universe, Alternate Universe - Rock Band, Getting Together, M/M, Musicians, POV Harry Potter, Unresolved Sexual Tension
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-02-18
Updated: 2018-02-18
Packaged: 2019-03-20 18:24:35
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,455
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13723425
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/magpie_fngrl/pseuds/magpie_fngrl
Summary: Harry and his band are looking for a vocalist. Draco Malfoy applies for the position.





	my heart’s a tart, your body’s rent

**Author's Note:**

> Written as tumblr fill to this ask: **assassinsdragons** said: _As I completely understand your frustration - I've had the same problem all school year and it really makes one exhausted - I will of course try to help you with your writer's block! So... how about Musicians AU..? Like... one of them plays a string instrument and the other a wind instrument.. there is some rivalry tension there, for sure..._
> 
> A million thanks to **LowerEastSide** for her fast beta and music industry insights!  <3

 

**The Interviews**

When the door shut behind the ninth person they’d seen that day, Harry let out a sigh. ‘This is hopeless.’

‘No, it isn’t,’ Padma insisted, ever the optimist. ‘We still have two candidates to interview. One of them might be the vocalist of our dreams.’

Cho scoffed from the corner.

‘I’m with the Kraken,’ Harry said, pointing at Cho.

‘Shush, children,’ Millie said, coming back in the rehearsal studio slash drinking den they’d created in Cho’s parents’ shed. ‘Patience. We’ve two more to go, both men. The next one has a lot of credentials. He’ll be here in a tick.’

Candidate number ten strode in a few minutes later. Tall, slim and blond, he sported a sneer Harry instantly disliked. He sat on the edge of the battered leather sofa as if it was contagious.

 _Strike two_ , Harry thought.  ‘Your name?’

‘Smith. Zach Smith. People like to call me Honey Voice.’

‘Um, what?’ Millie bit her lip in an obvious attempt to stop laughing. Harry shared an eloquent look with Cho: _hopeless_.

‘Honey Voice,’ explained Zach Smith patiently. ‘A nickname from my days at music school. As I said on the phone—was it to you, Melinda?—I graduated from the Royal Academy of Music. It’s—well, the teachers called my voice _exquisite_. I have a very unusual timbre, you see.’

The more Smith spoke, the more Harry wanted to deck him.

‘Right,’ said Padma, who by then was the only one managing to keep a straight face with ease. ‘What drew you to The Witches?’

‘The who?’ Smith asked and Harry groaned internally. At least their previous candidates had known which band they’d applied to—or in a memorable case were even blinded by what little fame The Witches enjoyed and had come simply to ask for autographs.

‘ _It’s the name of our band_ ,’ Cho said in the flattest tone ever uttered by a human voice. Lucky that Ginny was at work; she’d have eviscerated the bloke.

‘Oh! So with me, it’d become The Wizard and The Witches?’

‘No, the name doesn’t change,’ Padma explained. She should’ve been a teacher; her patience was _extraordinary_. Harry barely refrained from throwing Smith out.

‘But I can’t be a Witch.’ Smith’s face took on a patronising tone. ‘I’m a _man_.’

‘So’s Harry,’ Cho gritted out.

‘Zach,’ Millie interrupted before the bloodshed began. ‘One last question and we’ll let you go. Have you been in a band before?’

‘I’ve had loads of offers,’ Smith sneered. His _honey_ voice grated Harry and he decided he’d use his veto for Smith and only Smith. ‘… Radiohead, in fact, wanted to work with me. Thom, well… he was very impressed with my singing. But the timing wasn’t right for me, I had other commitments. And I did have to turn down Pulp, too. But: me and Jarvis. Great pals. And—’

‘So you’ve never been in a band, is that what you’re telling us?’ Harry interrupted.

Smith pursed his lips. ‘Not yet.’

When Smith left, the four of them descended to the garden for a fag and a quick beer before the final candidate arrived. Harry rubbed his face, resigned they’d never find the right person. It was impossible; the formerly five members of the band knew each other from school. If Ron hadn’t decided to fuck off to the States to pursue a career with his new girlfriend, they wouldn’t be in this mess.

‘The last bloke is going to be ten minutes late,’ Millie informed them, hanging up her phone.

‘Great start,’ Harry deadpanned. ‘Can’t wait to meet this responsible person.’

Twenty minutes later, Harry had returned to the shed and had picked up his bass to give himself something to do when the girls came in from the garden, ushering the new arrival.

Harry’s initial indifference changed swiftly as he took in the man, who flopped on the leather sofa as if he owned it. Tall and blond again, but different to the previous man, the way a moth is different to a butterfly. This one sported black nails, jeans so tight they seemed painted on him, and white hair that fell to his chin, making him toss his head back with careless grace every five minutes.

‘Hullo. I’m Draco Malfoy.’

Oh god. A _toff_.

‘Draco,’ Millie started. ‘Nice to meet you. I’m Millie.’

‘Mad Dog Millie?’ Malfoy said. ‘An _honour_. Your riffs are _unreal_.’

Millie preened, and Malfoy went on to offer compliments to Padma, ‘and of course, the Kraken’s drumming is legendary.’ Cho grinned at him.

Then, he turned his grey, unfathomable eyes to Harry. ‘You must be Potter.’

Nothing else. Harry narrowed his eyes at this blatant discrimination. He wasn’t too pleased with _Draco sodding Malfoy_ clearly implying that he found nothing to praise about Harry. Malfoy sounded and looked like an utter tosser and Harry didn’t want him in the band.

* * *

 

The girls wanted him in the band.

‘Look, I’ll veto,’ Harry said in Padma’s flat, where they were debating the issue while cooking some pasta. ‘We each have one veto, right? I veto him.’

‘If not Draco, then, as much as I hate to say it, Smith is the only other possible candidate,’ Padma pointed out.

 _Fuck_. ‘This is all Ron’s fault for gallivanting in America and leaving us in a lurch.’

‘My brother,’ Ginny said, who’d arrived late and had gone straight for the arms of her girlfriend, ‘fell in _love_. When it happens to you, then you can blame him.’

‘Just don’t fall for one of us, Harry,’ Millie said helpfully, stirring the sauce, and the girls laughed.

‘Ha ha.’ The running joke had grown old for Harry.

‘So tomorrow then?’ Ginny, as the band’s manager, always managed to whip them into action. She glanced at the creased leaflet Malfoy had left with them. ‘This Draco—what a name— will be singing tomorrow in Camden. We’ll go check him out, see what he’s like on stage.’

 

* * *

 

‘I’ve asked around, you know,’ Harry told his band mates over the blaring music. A band that seemed to be made up entirely of sixth-formers was performing with great inexperience. He hoped Malfoy’s band, which was to play next, didn’t veer so heavily into metal.

‘Asked around about what?’ Padma shouted. She’d worn a hot pink jumpsuit and, as always, drew the eyes of everyone in the club.

‘About the bloke we’re here to see. Do you know who he is?’

The girls ignored Harry, so he shouted louder. ‘He’s the son of Lord Malfoy. A Tory dick.’

‘So?’ Ginny said, her hand in Cho’s.

‘So?’ Harry huffed, annoyed they wouldn’t take him seriously. People were jostling him as they passed, the music was too shrill and his voice started hurting because of all the shouting. He really wasn’t having fun. ‘So he simply wants to rebel against _daddy_ for a month before he fucks off to Cambridge to study Law or some sort.’

‘What’s your beef with him, Harry?’ Cho asked. ‘We’ve all agreed he was the most reasonable of the people we interviewed.’

‘I just don’t like him,’ Harry insisted, knowing he sounded like a ten year old.

‘Then maybe don’t go out with this one,’ Ginny deadpanned and the others sniggered.

Harry rolled his eyes and turned his back to them. The fact that, at one point or another, he’d been involved with each of them (even if it was simply a single Year 9 date with Padma or a drunken shag on his birthday two years ago with Millie—which they’d agreed to never _ever_ **_ever_** mention again) had never failed to amuse them. His protests of ‘I never dated Ron!’ made them laugh even harder.

The teenage disasters on stage ended their set in lukewarm applause. Millie promptly arrived with a bloke she’d pulled—‘knows the organisers of Glasto’ she screamed in their vicinity—and they pushed forward in the crowd to see Malfoy’s friends’ band. He’d said he was doing it as a favour, as their regular singer couldn’t make it and they needed the gig.

‘The Flu Fighters?’ Padma scanned the leaflet. ‘What a name.’

The Flu Fighters consisted of three blokes on drums, guitar and bass, and Draco Malfoy, who strode on stage and held the microphone as if he was going to have sex with it.

The lights went down. The crowd hushed. A spotlight illuminated Malfoy’s silver hair and bare chest. Harry adjusted his trousers.

He’d had to adjust them a few more times as Malfoy on stage was—well, he was _hypnotising_. Harry found it impossible to look anywhere else for the duration of the set. A cross between Jim Morrison and Debbie Harry, Malfoy oozed charisma from every pore. His posture, his tight leather trousers, his eyeliner and painted nails, the way he glided and slithered and writhed on stage aroused Harry beyond comprehension. There was no way he’d be able to work with Malfoy. Going out with Cho and Ginny at school was a thing of the past, a childhood memory they laughed about now, but lusting after a band member Harry would have to see regularly sounded like a terrible idea, especially considering that said band member seemed to despise Harry.

The first notes of T-Rex’s _20th Century Boy_ started playing—an unusual choice for a band who’d stuck to rather old-school rock so far—and Millie whooped from beside Harry. It was a favourite tune of theirs. Cho and Ginny jumped up and down and Padma swayed with some bloke she’d pulled. Harry sipped his beer and turned to the stage where Malfoy crouched, holding the microphone between his legs, as he sang the chorus. He swept his white hair back and locked eyes with Harry: ‘ _…Well it’s plain to see you were meant for me/ Yeah, I’m your boy, your 20_ _th_ _century toy…_ ’

Malfoy’s gaze sent a thrill down Harry’s spine, even though he knew that Malfoy most probably hadn’t been looking directly at Harry. Harry’s skin felt hot and his lungs struggled for some air, as Malfoy held that gaze before he jumped up and stalked to the other end of the stage.

‘He’s _fantastic_ , isn’t he?’ Ginny shouted in Harry’s ear, and Harry knew it’d be futile—if not stupid—to argue against Malfoy.

‘Better him than Honey Voice,’ he agreed.

 

**The Rehearsals**

 

Working with Malfoy proved to be hell for several reasons, one being they way he lit Harry’s insides on fire just by existing; the other being that he was an insufferably annoying posh git.

They met the following day in their rehearsal studio. Millie and Cho pushed the leather sofa to the side to make room and Ginny explained to Malfoy that they had a gig in three week’s time. ‘It’s a pretty important one,’ she stressed. ‘We released a single before Ron left and this is our chance to play it to a much wider audience than we’re used to.’

Malfoy tied his hair back in a ponytail that left wisps falling on his face. ‘Will it be mostly covers or will we include some original songs besides the single?’

‘About 50-50, we think.’ Padma thrummed her guitar.

‘We’ll rehearse some covers today,’ Harry said. ‘The Pixies. Heard of them?’

The look Malfoy gave him would have withered blooming flowers. ‘Who hasn’t?’ His accent seemed more pronounced the more disdain he poured into his words.

Harry’s blood rose to his head. ‘How should I know what posh kids like you listen to between tennis lessons and Latin?’

Malfoy glared at Harry, who was amazed at how he could hate Malfoy and still fancy the socks of him. ‘You know _nothing_ of my life.’

‘I know a public school boy when I see one. Aren’t posh schools where House of Lords peers sent their sons—’

Malfoy stalked to Harry, right in his face. ‘Do _not_ talk about my father,’ he hissed.

‘Ahem.’

Harry and Malfoy turned to see that the girls had been watching them, some amused, Ginny glowering. Ginny was the one who’d coughed. ‘As fun as _this_ ,’ she waved a finger in their direction, ‘is, I say we get started. If you’re still spoiling for a fight after the rehearsal, feel free to take it to the street. I won’t have you destroying our studio.’

Malfoy nodded curtly and returned to the mike, and Harry picked up his bass, furious at himself for losing control around Malfoy.

Ginny flopped on the leather sofa. ‘Let’s go then while the grass is green.’

‘ _With your feet in the air_ …’

Harry would never admit it out loud, but playing music with Malfoy turned out to be an exhilarating experience. Having known the girls—and Ron—since school, Harry’d assumed the intuitive communication they’d shared was founded on years’ long familiarity. It shouldn’t have been the same with Malfoy, but Malfoy gelled with them in a way that baffled Harry, even if deep down it thrilled him. Malfoy could anticipate the subtle changes Millie or one of the others made while playing, but particularly Harry’s; he seemed attuned to Harry’s playing in a way that that was almost mystical. Harry found he could also sense the way Malfoy would drag his vocals or speed them up and adjust accordingly, which would lead the band to new directions. Everyone had grins on their faces. Experimenting with each other and their new addition made this one of the best rehearsals The Witches have ever had.

Ginny clapped in the end. ‘Fucking _amazing_.’

The next few rehearsals proceeded in a similar manner. Malfoy would show up looking like sex on legs, he’d argue with Harry about something—usually everything—but when they played music, they created magic.

After the rehearsals, the band had usually headed down the pub or to Padma’s flat for some dinner as she was the only one who lived on her own—everyone else had flatmates. As they wrapped up their third rehearsal, Malfoy surprised them by inviting them to his own pad. He glanced at Harry as he spoke, cheeks faintly blushing, while the girls accepted with enthusiasm.

Harry declined, ignoring the girls’ pointed looks. Being around Malfoy during rehearsals was bad enough. Wanting to snog and also hit the same person could be exhausting, as Harry had realised this past week.

Malfoy didn’t comment on Harry’s refusal to join them, but his eyes glinted. Harry returned home and heated up a frozen dinner, turning the TV on and eating absently, his mind on the fun he imagined the others having at Malfoy’s.

 

* * *

 

After two weeks, the tension began wearing everyone out and Malfoy pulled Harry into a corner. ‘What’s your problem?’

‘I’ve no idea what you’re on about.’ Harry crossed his arms and tried not to look at Malfoy’s collarbone peeking from his loose top. He didn’t succeed as Malfoy pressed in, inadvertently bringing his collarbone closer to Harry’s eyes.

‘I know you don’t like me. I know you didn’t want me here. Care to tell me why?’ Malfoy asked.

Harry met his eyes. ‘I don’t trust that you’re here for any other reason than sticking it to your Lord father. You wanna piss daddy off until he cuts off your allowance and then you’ll be running back to him. I don’t want this—your daddy issues—in the band.’ _Also, I want to shag your brains out._ Harry left that out.

Malfoy’s face froze in cold fury. ‘I told you before, you do _not_ talk about my father. Second, fuck _you_ and your _daddy issues_. Who doesn’t have them? Padma whose dad left her mum when she was three? Millie whose father believed in corporal punishment?’ He leaned back and read Harry’s stunned expression. ‘Oh yes, Potter. The girls told me. They confided in me. Because they want us to be a _team_.’

Harry couldn’t fault the girls for opening up to their bandmate. He knew he was being unreasonable and childish, but he couldn’t stop himself from replying, ‘Well, I don’t have father issues.’

Malfoy leaned in, his hair brushing Harry’s cheek. His smell made Harry’s pulse race. ‘You,’ Malfoy whispered, ‘don’t have father issues, because you don’t have a father.’ Straightening up, he glared at Harry and stalked out to the garden.

 

**The gig**

 

Since Malfoy had cornered him, arguments ceased and were replaced by an icy but civil communication between the two men. Practices, however, continued to be successful. At least then, Harry mused, he had the best view of Malfoy—his arse—while Malfoy’s mouth was occupied with singing and not being snide.

The club in Soho was packed to the brim on the night of their performance. Malfoy showed up in an electric blue, tight dress that shouldn’t have made him look as sexy as it did with his black Doc Martens and hairy legs—but it contributed in Harry feeling as if he was losing his mind, seeing Malfoy sway at the front of the stage, cradling the mike, hair falling on his face as he sang, body thrumming with tension. Unlike his performance with the Flu Fighters, Malfoy seemed drawn in himself today—which somehow made him even more intense— except for when he turned to Harry and sang one whole song looking at him. ‘ _... my heart’s a tart your body’s rent/ my body’s broken yours is bent…_ ’ Harry stared right back, heart drumming his chest, his fingers on fire on the bass, while the crowd roared below them.

Despite their astounding success, Malfoy was restless afterwards, tense like an unlit fuse waiting for a match. He sulked in a corner, drinking beer while the others packed their equipment. Most were carrying their cases out to the van when a blond, older couple arrived, explaining Malfoy’s mood. The arrogance on the man—certainly Malfoy Senior—indicated where Draco had learned his sneer from. Malfoy wore a defiant expression as his parents approached him.

‘Draco.’

‘Father.’

‘So this is how you spend your time,’ Lucius Malfoy said.

‘Did you enjoy the show?’

His father pursed his lips in cold contempt. ‘ _This_ is what you think you should be doing with your life. Abandoning your law studies so you can make a _fool_ of yourself in public.’

Malfoy inhaled once, sharply. ‘It’s been great chatting with you. Don’t let me keep you.’

‘Is your goal in life to _embarrass_ me?’ Lucius insisted, his voice rising in anger. ‘Is that why you invited us?’

‘Lucius…’ The woman put a hand on the man’s forearm.

‘I wanted you to _see_ me,’ Malfoy snapped. ‘Why should this have anything to do with _you_?’

‘Oh I see you,’ his father said. ‘Wearing…’ he ran his eyes over his son in clear distaste, ‘... _dresses_.’

‘Draco,’ his mother interrupted. ‘Thank you for the invitation. I’ll be expecting you on Sunday, as always. Come, Lucius.’

When the Malfoys left, Padma, who’d been present, murmured something inaudible and left. Harry remained alone with Draco, who caught his eye and glared at him. ‘The fuck you looking at?’

Harry took three large steps—he counted them—grabbed Malfoy and kissed him.

He had no idea why he’d done that except that Malfoy had looked deeply wounded and fiercely proud at the same time; he’d been trembling as if he was trying to stop himself from breaking to pieces, and Harry had wanted to be the one to hold him together.

He drew back and met Malfoy’s eyes. With a soft groan, Malfoy dragged Harry deep in the shadows and kissed him again, gasping when Harry dug his fingers in his hips and pressed Malfoy flush against him.

‘Touch me,’ Malfoy murmured in Harry’s ear, his cock hardening as he frotted against Harry. ‘ _Touch_ me.’

Harry drowned in waves of lust and desire, in his need and greed for Malfoy’s touch and taste. With shaky hands, he lifted Malfoy’s dress and ran his hands over his bare skin. Malfoy quivered at the touch, letting out a moan that threw Harry’s restraint out of the window; he cupped Malfoy’s face and kissed him hard, desperate for more and more and more.

Half an hour later, after their frantic kisses had turned soft and tender, after they murmured things to each other that, for once, had them laughing instead of arguing, after Draco wiped his hands on Harry’s T-shirt, which Harry then had to bin, they left to find the girls waiting for them by the backstage door. Glancing at the boys’ flushed faces and swollen lips, all four of them grinned as one.

‘Oh shut up,’ he told them and they burst out laughing.

They’d be insufferable from now on, Harry knew, but he decided he didn’t much mind the teasing as long as he had Draco. 

**Author's Note:**

> If you enjoyed the story, press the kudos button, baby! Kudos (kudoses? kudosi?) feed my soul!  
> If you want to talk to me about the fic, please leave a comment. Feel free to flail about what you liked, ask me about a particular scene that stood out for you, or let me know if there was something in the story (not the writing) that jarred with you.  
> I'm also on [tumblr](http://magpiefngrl.tumblr.com/) if you wanna come say hi :)


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